


These Moments (Yellow Daffodils)

by Silver_Porch



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Akashi Monologuing (Sort Of), Angsty Akashi, Canon Compliant, Gen, Just Akashi Feeling Guilty, Oneshot, Winter Cup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22050949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Porch/pseuds/Silver_Porch
Summary: He had never tasted defeat in his life. He never thought he would taste defeat in his life.Until now.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	These Moments (Yellow Daffodils)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ult_Geek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ult_Geek/gifts).



> Hey guys! This is a one shot I wrote a while ago.  
> It may be short, but I hope you enjoy it.

He had never been one to take responsibility lightly. No, in fact, he always tried his best to make sure that everything was going smoothly. In this case, he had given it his all in making the transition as easy as possible. In the beginning after Nijimura-Senpai had left, he had felt, he dare say a little lost with his new found captaincy. He had voiced his concerns to his former captain as well, but he had dismissed it with a roll of his eyes.

“Please,” he had scoffed. “If there’s anyone who can handle those Rainbow Idiots it’s you.” Then his eyes had softened and he had ruffled Seijūrō’s hair in a show of rare affection. “I have complete faith in you.”

He was sure it had been meant to be comforting or even reassuring, but it had just made the task more difficult. There was now one more person who counted on him; one more person he respected and did not want to let down. But, he had taken it as a challenge. He _would not_ by any means let Nijimura-Senpai or his team down. So, he had set his growing unease to the side and focused on leading the Teiko Basketball Team to victory.

That had been his first mistake.

“Victory is what matters Seijūrō,” his father always told him. “There is nothing more important than winning; to be the _best._ I expect nothing less than perfection. I expect nothing less than _victory._ Do you understand?”

And what had he done? Hadn’t he preached the same statements to his teammates over and over again? Hadn’t Teiko stressed on the same principle? He was no better than his father. Nijimura-Senpai would have been disappointed in him. His former captain had always welcomed not only victory, but he had also taken losses in stride. “If you don’t learn from your losses,” he had told the third string, “then that’s when you really are a damn loser.”

But, he supposed, the whole thing had been expected when he himself had never tasted defeat in his life.

Until now.

He could still feel the sinking feeling of helplessness. He could still feel the disappointment and the sting of tears in his eyes and the lump in his throat. But, it also felt vaguely refreshing and relieving. He had always felt like losing was a hinderance; a blemish on his otherwise perfect record. But losing this game had brought him back from the dark represses of his mind. It had brought purpose and meaning into his monotonous existence. For the first time, he wanted something badly.

He actually _wanted_ to win. He wanted to win for himself and he wanted to win with his teammates; those selfless, wonderful people who had always somehow _trusted_ him when he had never extended the same courtesy. He wanted to feel that bond. And though it had not been there before, he was desperate for it now. And there was a slight possibility.

Because of Kuroko.

Seijūrō supposed he owed Kuroko everything. And he was thankful. He always would be. He may not have been the best friend or teammate or captain for that matter, for the last three years. But he was now, and he couldn’t have been more grateful.This loss felt more like victory than any other. Losing wasn’t a weakness; it showed how strong one really was by coming back and fighting harder.

He knew that now.

So when Kuroko clasped his hand, beaming at him radiantly, he gripped it tightly with his own smile. _Thank you,_ he tried to tell him, and he knew Kuroko understood. “You played admirably,” he said instead.

“You deserved this win.” _More than anyone else._ “But, be prepared the next time we play. We won’t lose that easily.”

“Yes.” Kuroko smiled. “We shall play again, again and again, for as long as we want.” And his eyes shined with emotion. “Farewell, Akashi-Kun.” But it wasn’t a goodbye. Not really. It was a promise. And Seijūrō had never felt more gratitude as he did in that moment. “Farewell Kuroko. Until next time.”

And he watched Kuroko walk towards the rest of his teammates.

“Well,” someone scoffed beside him. “That was an interesting game.” Midorima Shintarō’s eyes bored into his. “Wasn’t it, Akashi?”

Seijūrō took a step back involuntarily. “Yes, it was.”

Midorima’s mouth twitched as if he had the urge say something important. But, the moment vanished. “Welcome back.”

He felt his throat close up and his voice was tight when he said, “Thank you.” A heavy silence pressed upon them. What did one say to an old friend when there was a great distance between them? Something he feared, they would never get over?

“Well, I shall leave it to you then.” He nodded towards the Rakuzan bench. “I will see you soon I suppose.” Another promise. Seijūrō laughed, relieved. “Yes. I shall definitely see you soon,Midorima.”

And then: “Thank you.”

Midorima looked startled. “For what?”

“For a wonderful match the other day. I do think I owe you a handshake.” There was a pregnant pause and Seijūrō wondered if he had been too forward or expected too much.

But his taller companion extended his hand to him hesitantly, one which Seijūrō shook firmly. “I would love to play you in the future. You and your team truly were marvellous. I—” He bit his lip, but continued with newfound vigour. “I would also like it if you would tell Takao-San for me, that he is one of the best point guards I have ever seen and makes quite the formidable opponent.”

Midorima raised his eyebrow. “Of course.” He still looked stunned. “I shall let him know.” Then Seijūrō bowed. “Thank you. My team is expecting me. I hope we meet again soon.”

He was making his way towards the bench, when someone gripped his arm tightly. “Akashi-Kun!”

He turned around, surprised. “Momoi-San.” She giggled albeit a bit watery, and he could tell she had been crying.

“You can call me Momoi you know. When you say it like that, you remind me of Tetsu-Kun.” Her tone sounded accusing, but her expression was fond. “Akashi-Kun, I- well -I-”

She threw her arms around him and clung on to him strongly, bawling. He threw Aomine, who had lumbered along, a panicked glance. He had never been good with crying people. But his former teammate just shrugged awkwardly. So he settled for patting her on the back as soothingly as possible. “You stupid, stupid boys!” She wailed. “You all had me so worried!”

Guilt unfurled in his stomach. He had been so absorbed in his own despair, that he couldn’t have imagined how it had been like for Momoi, who had to watch everything fall into pieces.

Then after a few seconds, she was calm and composed, shaking his hand. “I’ll make sure we meet again,” she promised, “all of us.”

She glanced at Aomine pointedly.

He folded his arms behind his head lazily, “Good game.” Then nodding, he strode out the door with Momoi at his heels.

It was good to see that some things never changed.

“Akashicchi!” Kise grinned. “That game was awesome!”

Seijūrō blinked, startled. “Thank you, Kise.”He glanced at his old teammate, who met his eyes with his own, staring unflinchingly. Seijūrō shifted, slightly uncomfortable. But, Kise held his gaze, his eyes narrowing.

The intensity in his eyes almost made Seijūrō balk. And then suddenly, Kise smiled, all teeth, blindingly. “Good to see that you’re back.” The shift of tension in the air made him let loose a breath he never remembered holding.

“It is.” he agreed, still rattled by the exchange. Kise had always been the most perceptive after Kuroko, as well as the most intense after Aomine. He still didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not. “How is your leg?”

Kise laughed. “Great.” But Seijūrō could see the painful wince he gave every time he moved and the shift in the weight of his feet.

“We should totally play against each other later. All of us, just a friendly game. What do you think?”

“I would like that.”

“Cool! I’ll let Momocchi know.” There was a companionable silence and Seijūrō almost felt as if they were in the Teiko locker room again, conversing about the trivial things that had somehow always managed to make his day.But there was something else there now; an underlying current of friction. _We’re also rivals now_ , Seijūrō realised. And it brought forth a surge of determination.

“I’d like that very much.”

He had managed to walk a few more feet towards the bench before his path was obstructed again. This time by a huge Murasakibara who towered above him. This was the same position, Seijūrō noticed, that he had been in before his other self had taken over. It was the one-on-one against Murasakibara that Seijūrō had almost lost that day. And it was during the one-on-one that he had activated the Emperor Eye for the first time. And now here he was, staring into the face of that very person.

“Murasakibara,” he greeted.

“Aka-chin, you’re so tiny.” A huge hand covered the top of his head. Seijūrō chuckled lightly, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Is that so?”

“It was an intense game today. You’re back, right Aka-chin?”

“Looks like I am,” he agreed, “and hopefully I’m here to stay this time.” Murasakibara gave him a careless glance before thrusting a stick of pocky into his hand. “Here. I’ll see you soon, I guess. Muro-chin and I are going back to Akita tonight.”

And then he strode away to a handsome, raven haired boy who was conversing with Kagami. Seijūrō looked at the pocky in his hand and couldn’t help but smile. It seemed as if Murasakibara had really missed him if he had decided to share his sweets.

He finally made it to the Rakuzan bench. The tension was so thick, Seijūrō could cut it with a knife. He couldn’t blame them for their apprehension. He had treated them despicably. Mibuchi-San broke the silence first. “That was a curious game wasn’t it?”

“It was indeed.” There was a short pause of disbelief. “That’s it?” Mayuzumi-San scoffed. “No, ‘I’m so disappointed in the low standard of your play today’? No gouging of the eyes?”

Seijūrō felt the guilt creep up his spine. “Of course not. You all played wonderfully. I enjoyed working with all of you.” There was another silence spanning for a few seconds. “Geez,” Nebuya-San snorted, “he really is different.”

He found himself smiling. “I suppose I am.”

Then the oppressed feeling in the air diffused and gave way to some scattered laughter. “I am very sorry for my behavior in the past year. Let me introduce myself to you once more. I am Akashi Seijūrō, your captain. I believe we have a great year ahead of us, that is if you agree to let me stay.”

“Stay?” Hayama-San echoed.

“Yes. I understand completely if you would rather see me leave.”

Mibuchi-San threw an arm around him and Seijūrō smiled despite himself at the display of affection. “We could never let you leave Sei-Chan. You’ll always be _my_ captain at least.” He gave everyone a terse glare that did not go unnoticed. “ _Right?"_

Everyone nodded violently.

“Sure.”

“Right.”

“Of course.”

Seijūrō let out a huff of laughter. “All right then, let’s do this.” It would take some time for sure, but they could definitely work through this rough patch together, as a team.And at that moment, surrounded by his teammates, he had never felt more alive.

For the first time in a long time, he felt as if everything was going to be all right.


End file.
